The Ghosts of War
by BetweenBlueLines
Summary: Harry has returned to England after a six year absence. He's not the 17 year old boy that saved the world, and the rest of the world isn't the same either. Struggling to find a place, Harry faces his ghosts in order to make something of it all...
1. Prologue: The Boy Returns

Prologue:

The Boy Returns

The street was crowded, full of people dressed in the latest European fashion that had swept through the old streets of London. Despite it nearing record temperatures that summer, no one seemed to bothered by it- opting instead for thinner, lighter, less clothing. Even serious office workers, had lost ties and suites in favor of unbuttoning their light dress shirts.

Through the hustle and bustle, no one noticed a man slip from a shadowed alleyway and join the cue, his hands trust deep into light washed gray jeans. Only a few curious glances were cast his way- and most were directed at his light blazer he wore. If anyone had cared to examine him closely, they would have noticed that he wasn't sweating despite the heat, and that his eyes, partially hidden behind round wire rim glasses, darted from face to face, memorizing in seconds. They would have noticed that a light, dry, breeze caused his fringe to be swept aside for a brief moment, showing the curiously shaped scar on his forehead.

But in this world, Harry Potter was unknown, merely another face in the sea of faces that traversed the streets daily. None of the muggles surrounding him had any idea of what he had done five years previously. None of them knew that because of him, they were able to walk blissfully unaware how close they had come to discovering magic, and ultimately their own end.

Musing of that, Harry Potter let a soft smile curl his lips for a brief moment, before he schooled his features back into a blank nonchalant expression. He would prefer if even the Wizarding World did not know of him, it would have certainly made his whole life much, much, much easier. But luck when it came to publicity had never been on his side, not even after Rita Skeeter had been removed from the Daily Prophet staff. Soon, the public would know of his return to the Wizarding World, though if he could help it, it wouldn't be for at least another month. What was one month more to the 60 he'd already spent in hiding?

Walking down another street, Harry found himself nearing his goal. The buildings slowly began to change, from those that marked the shopping districts, to those of the residential. When finally both sides of the street were crammed with high rising apartments, did he stop, and consult his watch. Battered, worn, and obviously gone through a lot of use, Harry had kept the watch Molly Weasley had given him for his seventeenth birthday years previously. The watch had been one of the few things he'd kept on himself when he'd taken to traveling the world after the war. Sighing, he ran a hand through his messy black hair, and started toward a slightly smaller apartment than those around. At half past one, he'd have a few hours to get settled in and plan what he was going to say to his two best friends. When he'd left Germany earlier that morning, he really hadn't any clue on what he was doing- other than the fact that it was high time he returned to England.

Relishing the fact that the lobby was cool and breezy, he nodded to the half asleep youthful doorman. Though he couldn't be much younger than Harry's own twenty-two, Harry viewed him as a child. It was a small fact that he'd come out with from the aftermath of the war. He'd been forced to grow up much quicker than most, thanks to the Dursleys', Dumbledore, and Voldemort. All those who had been alive during the war, especially those who were active, had grown too quickly, in order to survive in a world that was literally going to kill them. He wondered briefly what would have happened if Voldemort had never risen again- if he had never even existed. What would Harry's life be like then?

Shrugging off the thoughts, he opted to go up the stairs, rather than stand in the ancient lift and risk it getting stuck. Up five flights of stairs, Harry reached the right floor, and went along, searching for number 139. He came across it rather quickly, surprising himself. He'd counted on wandering the hallways for a while longer. Lifting a hand, Harry traced the nameplate which read "Weasley – Granger". Even though the two had been married for almost two years now, Hermione had felt it in herself to keep her muggle last name, something that Molly had sniffed at and Ron had smiled endearingly at. Though Harry wasn't suppose to know- for he "hadn't been present" despite the fact it was one of the most important moments in their lives. No he hadn't been present as Harry Potter, but he had been there, there was no way he was missing it. He had sat in the back of the church as "Edward Evans", a charming tall wizard who always had a broad smile fixed on his rather youthful face. When asked, "Edward" had introduced himself as a Ministry worker, who knew Hermione as a brief acquaintance, and had attended school with them, though as a Ravenclaw and their junior. He had felt a stab of disappointment at seeing Dean Thomas standing next to Ron as his best man, and had felt guilty in not stopping his so-called-hermit-ways for just the one time _Ron _needed Harry, but… well the Daily Prophet reporters with their flashing cameras had really set him off.

Now, years later, he stood in front of their apartment, wondering what their reactions would be. He knew, from his secret correspondence with Kingsley Shaklebolt, Kretcher and Ginny, the location of the house, and if need be, Kretcher was still under his ownership, so the elf would let him in. From just touching the door, he could feel Hermione's spell work, feel all the protective charms she'd laid in on top of the Ministry ones. Even Ron's magical signature was there, much lighter than Hermione's. As he reached for the handle, the spells fought against his magic, but with a slight push and a firm shake of his head to clear the buzzing of magic battling, he opened the door, melting through all the magic, and entering the apartment. He'd have to have a go at the protective spells himself, they really weren't up to snuff.

"Mistress? Are you being home already-" Kretcher's voice cut off abruptly as he poked his head out of a door down the hall. His eyes widened comically at the sight of Harry standing on the threshold still holding the door handle.

"MASTER!" With a squeal and surprising speed for such an old elf, Kretcher buried his head into Harry's knees, nearly knocking him off balance if he didn't have a grip on the door. "Kretcher is so surprised! Master Harry didn't say, Kretcher doesn't know... Kretcher hasn't gotten anything ready!" Kretcher pulled back, his eyes still larger than normal, so that they looked like they were going to swallow his head.

"Kretcher, I order you to calm down." Harry sighed, forgetting how…eccentric the elf had become. Still, not as bad as Dobby. Kretcher instantly took deep breaths, stumbling back to allow Harry access into the apartment.

"Mistress and Master are not home yet, is Master Harry going to wait this time?" Harry's lips twitched in another hidden smile. He'd nearly forgotten his other time visiting the newly wed's old apartment, where he'd come to check in on Kretcher. He'd sworn Kretcher not to tell before disappearing back again. That time, Harry thought, I think I went back to Canada.

He followed Kretcher into the kitchen, where the house elf happily croaked about anything and everything, informing Harry that Teddy – at that Harry felt a stab of remorse, he was no better than Sirius, avoiding his godson without a valid reason; he resolved to become a better godfather – and Rose – the Weasley-Granger child – where with Ginny on a day out sightseeing London. He sipped at a cup of tea, listening half heartedly to Kretcher and lost in his own memories.

As the clock drew nearer to five and Kretcher began to prepair dinner for the arrival of Ron and Hermione, Harry began to get nervous. What was he going to say? "Hey, sorry I left you letters and haven't talked to you in five years. I'm back now?" He snorted into his third cup of tea. Even to his mind's ears it sounded ridiculous. Before he could really decide to back out, he heard the unmistakable sounds of someone emerging from the floo. A second later another roar, and bickering ensued.

"I told you again and again_, Ronald_, but unless you have a warrant, I am not giving you any paperwork, husband or not."

"Herm, please, it takes too much time, please...?"

"No." The voices neared the kitchen, and Harry stood, trusting his hands in his pockets, and then a second later realizing that might look threatening so removed them. Kretcher was watching the doorway with large eyes again, every few seconds glancing back at Harry with rapidly growing excitement.

"I don't believe you, Hermione. Hmmm… smells good, Kretcher!" Ron was the first to walk into the kitchen, licking his lips. "Shepherd's Pie?" he asked hopefully, heading toward the refrigerator. Hermione walked in, her expression irritated. Harry felt a rush of relief, they looked the same – yes Ron had matured and no longer looked so gawky, and really when had Hermione become so beautiful? Must have had to do with motherhood.

Hermione's eyes fell on Kretcher's half excited- half frightened look. A tiny frown crossed her face and she slowly looked around, at the same time Ron turned around from the fridge, holding two bottles of butterbeer. There was a crash and the next thing Harry knew he was ducking from two blazing red lights.

"NOOOO, Mistress, Master, you do not go hurting Master Harry! Master Harry!" Kretcher sounded like he might have a heart attack at any moment. Harry carefully poked his head up over the table, noticing that both Hermione and Ron had their wands out and were pointing at were Harry had been a moment ago. He knew Ron had become an Auror in his absence, but he had no idea Hermione had gotten so quick with her spell work. Sure she had been always good, but not _that_ good.

"Um… hullo?" He said, watching as both wands swung to focus on him. His magic fizzed up, he could feel it bubbling under his skin, itching to be used, released. Closing his eyes and forcefully shoving it back at his core with a muted "_not now", _Harry stood, keeping his hands out where they could see them. "Sorry to barge in on you without warning."

Hermione let out a choked sound. "H-harry?" He nodded, really unsure what to do. Ron was still staring at him with a frozen expression. Hermione gasped and moved to walk forward, but Ron moved quicker blocking her view.

"The first time we met on the train, in our first year, who did you get first on your chocolate frog card?" Harry blinked, stunned at Ron's words. He found it rather endearing, yet exasperating. Did Auror training really make the best of mates paranoid against each other?

"Dumbledore, it was Dumbledore." Ron froze, his grim expression fading.

"Blimey… Harry…." There was a tense moment where the four of them stood frozen, and then Hermione hurried to his side and seized him in a massive hug.

"Oh Harry, Harry, Harry," she kept murmuring into his shoulder, where he could feel the cloth getting wetter and wetter. He awkwardly patted her on the back, watching as Ron moved to the fridge, this time turning around with three fire whiskeys, having swapped the butterbeers.

Dinner was a silent affair. Hermione was staring at Harry with a shocked expression, Ron still wouldn't look at Harry for more than a few minutes, and Harry was content to let it all go, enjoying the feeling of a full stomach. When the last of the food had been cleared away, Ron spoke in a detached, hallow sort of tone.

"So… you're back now huh?"

"_Ron_!" Hermione hissed, looking furious.

"Yeah. I'm back." Hermione swung to look at Harry looking hurt. He and Ron both ignored her, glaring at each other from across the table.

"So you think you can just come back? Just walk right back into our lives, eh? Think we'd be happy to accept you back? Is that what you thought? Not a bloody letter in five bloody fucking years, and suddenly you are back? And how the bloody hell did you get in here?" he shot a nasty look at Kretcher who shook his head violently.

"_Ron…._" Hermione pleaded, looking fearful.

"Shut it!" Ron was on his feet looking livid. "I want answers, _now_, Potter!" Out of all the things Ron had done, that had hurt the most. Harry closed his eyes briefly, once again feeling his magic flare, reacting to the anger Ron was practically spewing out of every pore. "You don't write, you don't even come to our bloody wedding, or the birth of Rose! You don't even say goodbye? What. The. Fuck?"

"I was at the wedding." Harrry leaned back in his chair, pushing it back onto two legs. He surveyed Ron cautiously, ignoring Hermione's silent crying. Another Harry would be yelling back at Ron, another Harry would be a bit more concerned about Hermione.

"Stop lying, I know you weren't there!" Ron snarled, his fists clenching.

"I was there. Remember Edward Evans? No, I didn't think so. He tried to keep out of the limelight." Ron looked bewildered, casting a quick look at Hermione. He frowned, torn between comforting her and yelling some more at Harry. He compromised by moving to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She took one of his hands, squeezing, trying to get him to stop.

"Edward Evans? No I don't remember him, but what does he have to do with you not being there?" he spat.

Harry sighed, reaching for his glass of fire whiskey. "Simple, I was him."

There was silence after his words. Then-

"You… Polyjuice Potion? Fuck, Harry, why didn't you say something?" So he was back to being Harry was he?

"No, not Polyjuice Potion. I simple _was_ him." Ron looked utterly confused, but Hermione gasped, her free hand going to cover her mouth.

"Glamours," she whispered, stating it like a question. Harry smiled sadly at her.

"In away, simple glamours would have melted at the level of security you had at that place." Harry glanced at his watch, noting the time was almost nine. He hoped they'd be able to wrap this up soon so he could find a place to stay, should they turn him out.

"But…" Ron frowned. "Why didn't you _say_ anything?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I wasn't ready okay?" Ron shook his head, stepping away from Hermione to pace the kitchen.

"Harry…" He turned to look at Hermione. "Can… can you tell us what you've been up to for the past five years?"

Ron halted in his tracks, his back to them. He studied the back of Ron, before slowly nodding.

"The parts I can, yes." Hermione frowned but nodded.

"Shall we move to somewhere more comfortable?"

Later that evening, when Harry was pulling the blanket over his shoulders, sighing in content at finally being able to rest, listening to the sounds of Kretcher moving around the apartment, and the soft talking of Ron and Hermione who still sat in the couch where he'd left them, he found himself finally happy. He'd told them almost everything; how he'd traveled the world, meeting different wizards from all walks of the world, how he'd kept in contact with Kingsley who'd given him random assignments, how he'd learned far more than he'd ever dreamed of, even after his years at Hogwarts, and how, he finally found himself at ease with his old ghosts.

He had left of many things, and he knew Ron and Hermione both knew, but felt that in time Harry would tell them. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to tell them what had happened in Germany two years ago, where he'd been until this very morning. It was something that he found unbelievable precious to him, and telling anyone would be tarnishing his memories, and tarnishing the trust he'd gained.

There would be a day, Harry thought, his mind finally beginning to shut down, there would be a day, when he'd have to dig up the truth about the last five years, but now… now, he was so tired.

TBC

A/N: A sequel of sorts to "The End". Five years have passed since Harry's escape from English Wizarding World. A lot of things have changed, not just with the world around him, but with Harry himself. And they will continue to change. And what exactly happened during those five years that he's so keen to keep under wraps? Well, that's for me to know, and you to find out.

A brief word about this story: It will be a Harry x Draco story. If you do not like that pairing, I'm wondering why you are reading this. It will be extremely moody, angsty, and with lots of ups and downs. But in the end the ever cheesy "love will conquer all" holds true to even haunted war heroes.

Review, comment, questions, but no flames… :3

-Blue


	2. 1: A Court Full of Jesters

One:  
A Court Full of Jesters

_One Year Later..._

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, catching tiny particles of dust and dousing everything in a warm golden light that did nothing to improve the mood of the man standing in front of a mirror. He scowled heavily into the old time speckled mirror, glaring back at his brilliant emerald eyes. His image staring back seemed to mock him, glaring back in a halfhearted way that made the man fervently wish that his glare really wasn't that weak.

Sighing, he turned away from the mirror, focusing his glare at the brilliant blue sky outside. If it had been raining he would have been a little more pleased, it would have meant he wasn't wasting a perfect day in an office, surrounded by stuffy old men, who argued profusely over everything, taking three steps back for every one step forward they made. But of course, when had Fate ever been kind to Harry James Potter? Never. He gave one last dark scowl before turning to look at his wardrobe which was in disarray. Muggle suites hung haphazardly off hangers next to long wizarding robes of various colors and material. Shoes spilled out, falling onto the floor to mix with clothes that Harry had disregarded earlier that week, and those that had fallen out of the unorganized wardrobe. He knew that if Hermione could see the state of his room she would merely shake her head and sweep her wand around. Ron would laugh loudly and ask what was wrong with Kreatcher.

He smiled softly, thinking of the reaction he'd get from Hermione. She still hadn't let off on S.P.E.W, her obsession to free the house elves had merely been set to simmer, and Harry was certain, that soon it would begin to boil again. After all Hermione did work for Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Shaking his head, Harry selected a fitted charcoal gray suite that Hermione had raised her eyebrows at and he'd received several compliments from the secretaries at the Ministry. An Italian crimson silk tie around his neck, that he tied with the ease and precision he'd gained from Hogwarts.

Turning back to his mirror he grinned, his mood slowly improving. If he may say so himself, he looked dashing, ready to kill, or at least steal the hearts from all the women in the office. Their poor husbands never had a chance. His mirror gave a low whistle as he turned running his fingers casually through his hair, managing to semi-tame the wild locks. Nodding to himself, he strode to the door, pulling it open and vaulting down the stairs of Grimmauld Place Number 12.

"Kreatcher!" Harry called, glancing toward the curtains that had once hid Mrs. Black. When Harry had come back, little over a year ago, he'd walked up to Mrs. Black's curtains and pulled them open. He'd been aware of Hermione and Ron had followed him into the house and were now standing together looking confused as they held their hands over their ears to block out the sound. Harry had told Mrs. Black that that was quite enough. She'd been flustered, momentarily stunned, and when she drew breath to rain more insults down on them, Harry had given her a smile that Hermione later called his "charming seducing smirk", and removed the painting, banishing it to nothingness. He'd assured a irate Kreatcher that Mrs. Black had not been harmed in any way and that if Harry chose, he could summon her back (which he did three times in order to prove his point). Hermione had stared at him in shock, and Ron, well being Ron, had merely written it off as luck, that Harry's try had been the final straw. Hermione had after that, tried to corner Harry countless times, trying to figure out what exactly Harry had done.

"Krea-"

"Yes Master Harry?" Harry paused in his calling of the wayward house elf, turning to find Kreatcher peering down at him from the second floor landing. On his wispy hair covered head sat a large brown owl, who mirrored Kreatcher's look as it hooted down.

"Ah... just my briefcase..." Harry said, staring at the owl and wondering who's it was. He was positive Hermione used Pig, and no one was in correspondence really with him. Most of his owls came through Hermione or Ron, occasionally Kingsley.

Kreatcher handed the letter to Harry, before running off, the owl swaying on his head, turning its head to stare at Harry. He glanced down at the paper, reading his name written in a bold scrawl, one he recognized but didn't immediately place. Sighing, he turned it over, glancing briefly at the Ministry seal before sliding his magic - blade sharp - under it and coolly opening the envelope.

_Harry-_  
_The Minister is rather irate that you've been avoiding his owls. He's been coming to _me_ to complain about _you_. Please answer his owls ASAP, I'm becoming quite irritated with listening to him whine. Soon he's going to start thinking that _all_ of my Aurors are irresponsible, and that is something we _do not_ want. _  
_Along the subject of owls, you do seem to have a rather knack at missing meetings. I'm writing this after the _third_ meeting you've missed this_ _month. I'm sure you've read, and if not heard from one Mrs. Weasley, that the Daily Prophet is beginning to speculate about you. Again. Please make sure that you at least swing by my office at some point today to be briefed. And do try to talk to the Minister. _

_Sincerely,_  
_Kingsley Shaklebolt_  
_Head Auror_

Harry grimaced, placing the letter in its envelope and the setting down on a low hallway table. He despised the Auror Offices, what with the ever lurking Daily Prophet reporters who lived to publish the Aurors in bad light, and loved even more to corner Harry and write ridiculous articles about him diving off seventeen story buildings to save a falling infant and landing without any harm to him, or the baby. His cubicle was sadly neglected; it was probably full of dust. All the papers ever sent his way were placed in a charmed box that instantly transported the papers into a tray at his desk upstairs or into his briefcase, should he be away from Grimmauld Place.

And the meetings... He hated the meetings even more. Though the reporters where always absent, young recruits and even hardened Aurors would stare at Harry no matter where he sat (he'd tried the back once and found that everyone had turned to face him. Kingsley had to conduct the meeting standing next to him.), and then after the meeting, they would all crowd around him asking his opinion on how they'd taken in a dark wizard, or badgering on his "past accomplishes" as Hermione so liked to call them. It was utterly ridiculous how they treated him; he'd only been an Auror for six years (passing his exams just before he'd taken off into hiding), and the war had been over for nearly seven years.

Frowning, Harry ran his fingers over his scar. There where times where he'd wake up, feeling trapped and sick, and lash out the slightest movement. After seven years it was a strange experience to live without a paining scar. He half expected it to burst into fire again - at least then he'd know he had a purpose again.

"Master Potter," Kreatcher appeared, Harry's dark blue dragon skin briefcase clasped in his arms. Harry smiled softly, taking the briefcase from him and checking its contents. A few more papers marked with the ornate MM of the Ministry Magic paper, and a few notes from his last meeting, but otherwise bare.

"Well then, I'll be on my way. I won't be home 'till late, I think. So need to wait up." Harry turned to stride toward the door.

"Master!" Kreatcher tumbled after him, his old ears flapping. "What of the owl?"

Harry turned, his hand on the snake doorknob. "What owl?" He gave a quick grin at Kreatcher's exasperated expression and pulled open the door, Apperating on the door mat.

Harry slowly turned over his fountain pen, frowning as he listened to the representative from France drone on and on. Honestly, who cared about jet skis of English make making too much noise. Not Harry. He frowned, spinning his pen faster and wondering why he was even here, sitting in a stifling hot meeting room, surrounded by stuffy Muggle delegates and government officials. Oh right- _Kingsley_.  
The day was pretty vivid in his mind; it was soon after he'd returned, and he was on his way to meet with Kingsley to discuss his future training as an Auror (mainly the meeting was going to be Harry pleading that he didn't need the training, for he'd learned everything he needed to learn while traveling abroad, but of course Kingsley wouldn't listen and Harry would waste a year "training" before Kingsley realized that Harry hadn't been bragging and would accept him into the Auror ranks), when he'd run into the Minister and Kingsley arguing. They had drawn quite the crowd; Aurors looking amused as Kingsley towered over the short, pudgy Minister (it seemed that it was a trend for the Ministers to be short, with the exception of Scrimgeour), Percy Weasley hovering at the edges (he had kept his job at the Ministry, even had been appointed as Senior Undersecretary) looking half frightened, half worried, and a few other ministry workers who had gotten stuck in the argument.

As Harry remembered he'd come across the scene to find the Minister shouting at Kingsley in his high voice - "This is the THIRD one who has resigned due to attacks on the Prime Minister! How in Merlin's name are we suppose to keep the Muggle Prime Minister protected when your lot keep quitting! Shirley had to be taken to St. Mungo's because of tentacles growing out of his face! And the Prime Minister! Oh!" He seemed to have run out of words by the time Harry had reached the edge of the crowd. His eyes were bulging and his face was an ugly puce color - one that reminded Harry forcibly of his uncle.

Kingsley had then survived the Minister with a long, slow, look before he spoke. "Well, they are trainees."

"Trainees! Trainees! Exactly my point Kingsley! Trainees! Here we are telling the Minister that we'll keep him safe and inform him of important dates we need his cooperation and you.. your lot keep running off! And they can't even debate properly! Are you taking this seriously?"

Kingsley sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Yes, I am taking this seriously. However our Aurors are _very_ busy at the moment, and it is good practice for our trainees." At his words, several of the Aurors started guiltily, hurrying off, muttering something about reports they had unfinished.

"But.. But... You... I... Well what are we suppose to do! The Prime Minister is being attacked, and he's no longer up to date.. and..." he looked imploringly at Kingsley. Kingsley looked around, his eyes falling on Harry. With a slow smile he turned back to the Minister.

"Don't worry Minister. I do know of someone who is qualified for the job- if I may be so blunt as to say even over qualified." The Minister mouthed the words, staring blankly at Kingsley. "Yes, over qualified. I think you know Harry Potter, am I correct?"

At that Kingsley had drawn Harry over, introduced him to the Minister, and a whirlwind later Harry was Flooing to meet the Muggle Prime Minister.

On most days, Harry had to admit, being the Magical Ambassador had its perks. While most of the Aurors were busy risking their necks, Harry was attending fancy lunches and being introduced to celebrities of all sorts. Of course the Minister was always nervous around Harry, and he'd almost slipped up once when introducing Harry to the Swedish Ambassador, introducing Harry as the Magical Common Affairs Delegate. The Swedish man had merely smiled and shook Harry's hand.

There where times when some drunk wizard would come stumbling into a restaurant and point his wand wildly around, and Harry would be forced into action. The Minister's eyes afterward would be huge and then when in private, he'd demand to know (all over again) what in the name of the Queen was going on. Sometimes, Harry would have messages from the Minister for the Prime Minister and he'd have to explain slowly to the Muggle exactly what it was he was being asked. As would be the case today, should the meeting ever wrap up.  
Harry checked his watch, noting the Prime Minister frown at him as he did so. The Prime Minister was always like that, watching Harry and disapproving of everything he did, as if he knew Harry was casting magic at that second. Even when he wasn't.

Finally the meeting drew to a wraps and Harry stood, re-shaking hands with everyone in the room, including the pretty secretary who had come with the French representative, whose hand he shook twice. The second time she pressed a piece of paper in his palm and winked as she excited. Harry found his eyes following her, as he pocketed the paper, knowing he wouldn't look at it again, not unless Kreatcher found it and showed it to Hermione. Harry was positive Kreatcher was under orders to show Hermione any paper that looked like it could have come from a girl. He'd have to have a word with them.

"Well I think that went well," Harry said, following the Prime Minister down the hall to the elevator that would take them up to his office. The Prime Minister frowned.

"Yes, yes it did, didn't it?" He muttered, scowling as Harry stepped in after him and pressed the number 28 for him. They didn't speak for the short ride up, not until they had entered the office and the door was closed behind them. The Prime Minister looked expectantly at Harry, who sighed, and pulled out his wand, casting a verbal privacy charm on the door and windows. Even the bloody fireplace. Only then did the Prime Minister relax.

"Well what is it?" He snapped, digging through his drawers for a peppermint pasty Harry had found the Minister was fond off.  
"Well..." Harry took the un-offered seat. "There is this sport in the Wizarding World, known as Quidditch."

The minister flinched, something Harry found reminded him of his aunt and uncle. For a brief moment he wondered how they were doing. "Quidditch... that's that silly thing on mops isn't it?"

Harry smiled, one he knew won the hearts of almost everyone, and would instantly smooth the Prime Ministers ruffled feathers. "Yes, it is. You see-"

Exhausted, Harry stepped out of the elevator on level two, heading toward Kingsley's office, hoping to get there before anyone saw him. As was the case, it never happened, for he was always hailed by Ron, or some other auror. This time another voice called to him.

"Just a moment Potter!" Harry sighed, wondering if he could get away from the Minister. Slowly he turned, forcing on his polite, genuinely interested smile.

"Ah Minister! How are you? And Kingsley, I was just about to come and have a word with you," He nodded to the two men. Kingsley rolled his eyes, knowing it was all an act. The Minister, however, puffed up.

"Yes, yes, that's all very well. This is rather important, though, can't wait. You did talk to the Muggle Prime Minister about the Quidditch World Cup?"

Harry nodded, brightening his eyes to make it seem as if he was truly happy to talk to the Minister about mundane things. "Yes, and you should be expecting a letter by him some time the end of this week, ah.. by muggle mail that is."

The Minister blinked, seeming to realize that Harry had everything undercontrol and that he could no longer yell at Harry. "Ah... well... I see. Keep me informed Potter."

"I will, and I do believe you could have someone from the Department of Magical Games and Sports do it next time." With that Harry turned to the Head Auror. "You wanted to brief me, sir?"

Kingsley led the way away from the rather stunned Minister. A few Aurors poked their heads out of their cubicles to see what the commotion was, but seeing Kinsley quickly ducked down again.

"Well Potter," Kingsley started sitting down at his desk and clasping his hands in front of him. Harry took a seat, enjoying the way the chair molded around him. The Muggle chairs could never achieve such comfort. "Since you weren't at the meeting, again, I'm forced to take time at the cost of my personal expense." The way he looked at Harry told him that he really wasn't angry. "I'm considering removing you from guard duty, I think you're finding it a little boring, yes? Instead I have an... investigation I'd like you to look into."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the look Kinsley gave him. "Me, sir?"

"Yes, I think you're little _talents_ are perfect for it." He slid a folder across the table. "I'm sure you'll find everything you need for the job in there. Don't hesitate to ask questions."

With that, Harry knew he was dismissed. He stood, taking the folder with him and bowed, leaving the office, and the floor quickly. On his way down, in a thankfully empty elevator, Harry thumbed through the folder, a cold smile slowly worming its way onto his face. Yes, Kingsley was right in saying he'd like this. It had been awhile since Harry had gotten to be out in the world.

After all, what better of a joker was there, than he?

_  
A/N:  
Yeah. No. Overall, I'm very disappointed with this chapter. It just didn't really work. Then again I wrote in bits and pieces (including the napkin from a random restaurant) so of course its a little disjointed. I wanted to add so much more, but I was starting to get tired of writing this chapter. Nothing really exciting happens yet. Shameful.  
Anyways- I realized I should have already made this clear in the beginning of this chapter, but this takes place a year later from the Prologue. The Prologue was Harry just coming back from wherever he was. This is him, a year later, settled in.  
And again- this is _going_ to be a Harry x Draco story. Again- Don't like slash, don't read. *shrugs*  
Questions, Comments, Fears, Musings, ect?  
-Blue


	3. 2: The Good Times and the Bad Times

Two:

The Good Times and the Bad Times

_10 Months Earlier… Malfoy Manor_

A slim, silver-blonde haired man stared out of the large dining room windows, out over the large sprawling yard, where two figures could be seen. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a suppressed smile, a smile that quickly grew when he checked that he was truly alone. He leaned into the glass pane, resting his forehead against the cool glass, staring straight into his own gray eyed reflection. Through it he could see the smaller figure run ahead, before skipping back and tugging on the other figure's arm. He sighed softly, placing his palm against the window and watching his breath fog so he could no longer see.

At twenty-four years old, Draco Malfoy was finally getting his life straightened out. His light parole would be ending soon, the money the Ministry had controlled would be back in his vaults. His father, Draco sneered as his thoughts turned to his father, well, his father deserved worse after all he done. No matter what his mother said about his father finally atoning for his sins, Draco wouldn't be forgiving him any time soon. He was not going to have his father play a hand in his son's life.

Draco shook his head slightly, his silver-blonde hair slipping into his eyes. He'd long ago stopped slicking it back, something he'd been told once by a past partner made him look ridiculous. "Better to let it be natural," they'd told him. Below, Scorpius, his pride and joy, had let go of Narcissa and was running ahead as fast as his three year old legs would take him. The smile he'd lost when thinking of his_ father_ returned in full force. When Scorpius tumbled, he leaned forward pressing himself against the glass, his heart thumping. A sigh escaped him, when the boy got up, dusting himself off and running back to his grandmother.

"Draco."

He cast one last look at the couple below, before turning to face the owner of the soft voice. Astoria, formally Greengrass, but now his wife, hesitated in the door way, her hands clasped together in front of her simple two piece gray suit-skirt. Her eyes searched his face briefly, concern, weariness, and cautious relief written in her kind eyes. Whereas her sister had a cold sort of beauty that graced the Greengrass family, Astoria's beauty was gentle and majestic. Draco had to admit he was truly grateful for what Astoria had done four years previously.

_Draco slid the glass door shut behind him, putting a very real barrier between him and the rest of the world. It did nothing however to stop the curious stares he got from students as they attempted to find seats on the crowded train. Some openly displayed hostility as they passed, mouthing remarks at him and making crude jesters. When the Golden Trio went by, Malfoy expected them to throw one last parting remark at him- after all they had laid off for most of the year thanks to an unspoken truce that had started when Potter had returned his wand – but the Weasel had ignored him, and the Chosen One wasn't even present, most likely hiding underneath his cloak to avoid the stares he would have received. Only the Mudblood had acknowledged him as they went be. She had sent one swift curious, calculating look, that he had for some strange reason returned with a small nod. Had he realized at the time that that small motion would unravel his plan of forever avoiding her and her associations now that he had completed his schooling, he would have simply ignored her. _

_ When the Golden Trio- or Duo had passed, Draco settled down, staring out of the window watching as the platform finally emptied. Slowly the train pulled away and began to gather speed, hurtling back toward London. Draco pressed himself against the window, knowing it was sentimental but wanting to catch one last glimpse of the place he'd practically grown up in. _

_ Instead his compartment door slid open with a soft clattering sound. Draco mentally sighed, bracing himself for the insults that were sure to start from some small upstart who thought that now that Draco wasn't surrounded by his friends- he spat at the word – and his family practically in disgrace they could give him a taste of his own medicine. Musing, Draco knew that he probably should have treated people kinder._

_ "May I sit here?" Draco started at the soft, calm voice. Turning he faced the beautiful girl who stood in the door way. Even then, though slightly nervous, she radiated an aura of beauty, wisdom, and patience. He recognized her from the parties his parents used to throw, and of Daphne's constant side remarks about her sister (all out of jealousy). _

_ Draco simply nodded, turning back to the window, listening as Astoria Greengrass stowed her bag and took a seat. If he had chosen to look at her, he would have found her gaze locked on him, calculations going behind her calm eyes. Honestly, he really found so many faults wrong with the start of their relationship. He could have been more of a gentleman, even Astoria could have forced him to talk. But instead they sat in silence for a good hour, the scenery outside the cabin melting from mountains, to hills, to fields and farmlands._

_ When the silence had stretched long enough, Draco heard the soft snap of Astoria closing her book. He still refused to look at her, pretending that the cows that flashed by were much more interesting that the company of the beauty sitting across from him._

_ "Well, isn't this just pleasant?" She had started the conversation. Draco realized later that she would start everything and end everything, and Draco would follow along meekly. Very un-Malfoy like._

_ "What is?" He hadn't meant to talk. But he had, his voice coming out slightly hoarse. He hadn't used it much in the past year, preferring to keep his head down and get the N.E.W.T.S he needed. _

_ "I don't know." She smiled softly, captivating Draco. "Everything? Nothing?"_

_ He frowned. "Then why did you say _this_?" _

_ She tilted her head, looking at him softly."To start a conversation, what other reason is there Mr. Malfoy?"_

_ He hissed, gritting his teeth. "Draco, call me Draco."_

_ She held out a dainty hand at that. "Then call me Astoria, Draco." He took it and kissed it._

_ Over the next hour, Draco and Astoria talked about everything and nothing, avoiding the topic of the war and the life they would soon be returning to. Both found common interests, and debated over the ones they held different ideas of. It was during one of those heated conversations, when Draco noticed the scenery was changing from the farms to civilization._

_ "We are nearing London," he murmured. Astoria glanced out the window to, her face unreadable. _

_ "It is really over," she said finally, her eyes finding Draco's. _

_ "Yes."_

_ She nodded slowly, pursing her pale rose lips. "It seems like a dream at times doesn't it?"_

_ "A very bad dream," Draco scowled as he said it. It wasn't the full truth, there were parts of his last eight years at Hogwarts that had made him feel so alive. _

_ She smiled knowingly. "Yes…" She paused, and then lifted her chin. Draco found that she always lifted her chin slightly when she was about to propose something; she seemed to do it to assort her authority. "I have a proposition to make."_

_ "Do you?" Draco said, mildly interested in hearing what she had to say. Unlike some of the people he had chosen to associate with, Astoria was creative, brilliant, and refreshing. But even so, he was a Malfoy – he was brilliant too, cunning, and sly._

_ "Yes, I think it may interest you." Her smile broadened a hint of a smirk in it too. Draco wondered if the Sorting Hat had debating about putting her in Slytherin, for if his memory served him right, it had taken a long time sorting her, before eventually placing her in Ravenclaw._

_ "And what is it that you so seem to think will interest _me_?" Draco asked, his own smirk appearing._

_ "Well seeing as you have nothing to lose and everything to gain, I think what I am about to say will bring about great satisfaction to you, and say, your fortune?"_

_ Draco leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "Alright, I must admit, I'm curious."_

_ "It is simple really. Marry me, receive my inheritance and have the Greengrass name support you in whatever endeavors you have planned. I'm sure you'll figure out other benefits from this…engagement with time."_

_ Draco was surprised by her bluntness. He had come to think that Astoria was rather round-a-bout when she went about getting what she wanted. But now… well, this was interesting. "And say I agree, what is there in this for you? Surely you would be tarnishing yourself by binding yourself to the Malfoy name?"_

_ She smiled warmly, reaching forward to touch his hand. "I think the Malfoy name will be rising up soon, under your guidance. But you are right what can I gain from marrying you? Surely there are better, just as old names and fortunes worthy of me." She was mocking him, something that would become a game between the two of them. "No, Draco, you really don't have anything to offer me. Except freedom."_

_ Draco blinked. He had not been expecting that. "Marrying you will give me a chance to taste life; my parents won't dare to interfere with the marriage. I need…no, I want that chance. You are getting it now to, so why can't I? The War is over, don't we all deserve new chances?"_

_ Draco hadn't hesitated on slipping off his seat, pulling of his Slytherin ring and transforming it to resemble the magnificent diamond ring he had seen worn in a portrait of his father's mother. "Astoria Greengrass, though I can promise you nothing yet, I can give you my word that you will get what you want. Will you marry me?"_

_ "Yes." It was simple, and the ring was on Astoria's finger, glittering gently as it caught the dying sun's light. Slowly the train rolled into the station, finally letting out a loud sigh as it settled and the clamor of students gathering their belongings began._

_ Draco stood, taking down his and Astoria's beg, before offering her his arm. She took it, giving him a small smile before they joined the throng outside. As the stepped off the train and the smell of smoke hit them he felt lighter and happier than he had in years. Astoria's warm hand guided him down the platform where his mother stood a few yards away from the Greengrass's. Their faces, Daphne's and his mother's would forever be imprinted in his mind as Astoria broke the news, the image of a gushing, happy fiancé. _

_ And Draco- _

Well he couldn't be happier to have a more understanding wife.

"Draco?" Astoria spoke again, carefully stepping into the room.

Draco roused himself from his memories, smiling softly at his… He paused realizing there was only one reason Astoria would be here now, now that their marriage was about to be broken. Draco had indeed given Astoria freedom, as she had him. Their marriage had never been one to be based off of love, though both did love each other dearly. Their love, however, was that of close friends, who had shared deep secrets and embraced in intimate moments. Otherwise it was purely business and an act. To the outside world, Astoria and Draco Malfoy would seem the perfect couple – but to Narcissa's eyes, she saw two who gave each other joy and love by letting the other do as they liked. Astoria never questioned where Draco was when he didn't come home at night, she never asked where the marks had come from, instead pointing her wand at them and muttering an incantation that would sooth the red bites. And as Astoria never questioned Draco, Draco never questioned Astoria where she went when she dropped Scorpius off with his grandmother and disappeared, sometimes for days. They respected each other's privacy, and came up with excuses when the need arose. Only Narcissa knew of their fraud, and though she did not approve of it, she too respected it, loving all three of them equally. Draco was grateful for the fact that Astoria and his mother still befriended each other, for he knew that Narcissa needed someone like Astoria.

"Its time?" Draco asked, leaning back against the window. He felt no fear that it would break, after the war Draco had placed strong anti-breaking spells on the windows. He'd had enough of cleaning up glass.

"Yes…I… well he'll be here soon. With the car." Astoria blushed softly, coming to stand in front of him. "I…oh Draco!" She flung her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. Startled at her display of emotion- Astoria really wasn't one to show anything but patience. Hesitantly he lifted his hands and patted her awkwardly on the back.

"Astoria…" His voice cracked slightly and he frowned. Damn it, he wasn't going to break down. He didn't even _love _Astoria – at least not in the way the papers wrote. Eventually she calmed down, pulling back. She bit her lip, fixing a stern gaze on Draco.

"I am really sorry, Draco, for this." She took his hands in her own, smoothing his skin.

"Don't be," Draco removed one of his hands so he could brush back some of her hair behind her ear. "I'm just glad you've found something that made you happy."

"I am happy! With you, I was happy!" She frowned, looking angrily at him.

Draco smiled, "I know, love. I know."

She leaned into him, sighing. "Is Narcissa still angry?"

Draco shook his head, stroking her hair now. "No just sad. She really did like you."  
"I like her too."

They stood silently together for a few minutes before Draco chuckled softly. Astoria pulled her head back, frowning. "What?"

"I'm just amazed really. When we told mother, well I honestly thought she was going to hex us." Astoria joined in on his laughter. Silently, Draco wondered what life would be like without Astoria. Surely it wouldn't be all that different? After all he still had Scorpius and his mother.

_No_, he thought, _it will be different. There won't be anyone to tease, I'll probably stop laughing and smiling so much. Mother will become distant again. And Scorpius- well that little demon wouldn't know the difference_.

"Though…" Astoria tilted her head again so she could look at Draco as he talked, "Why you had to pick an American if you were going to run off with a muggle, I'm still wondering." Astoria laughed, pulling back so she could playfully hit Draco.

"I didn't pick him, I just… fell in love," she ended helplessly. Draco raised an eyebrow, smirking. Though the general public didn't know, and most of his "friends" didn't either, Draco had long ceased on being a "muggle-hater" and a "mudblood-hater". He probably would never come close to becoming a "lover" but, he could at least tolerate them. Specially since he had to work closely with some.

"Well, with all due respect, an _American?_" Draco put a whine in his voice, giving Astoria a scandalized look. "You gave up this" – he swept a hand up and down his body – "gorgeous body for an American one? I'm hurt."

Astoria rolled her eyes, kissing Draco's cheek. "I gave your egoistic head up for a modest man."

There was a small pop and a house elf appeared bowing low. "Mistress, the car is here." Bowing again, the house elf disappeared. Instantly the mood turned solemn.

"Well…I'm about to meet this 'modest man'." Draco attempted to joke, though it took a stab at his pride to admit, he'd never been a good joker.

Astoria nodded, her dark eyes wide. "You'll keep in touch won't you? I'll send you my address when we've settled, remember you'll have to send it by muggle post."

Draco rolled his eyes. "When is he going to accept owls in the house?"

She scowled. "I told you, he's allergic to birds. Oh- and you'll send pictures of Scorpius?" Astoria looked at him imploringly- he could see the pain in her eyes. As much as she loved this muggle man, Scorpius was still her child.

"Of course I will, dear. Every week if I need to."

Astoria looked like she wanted to cry or laugh, or both. "Remember, you are my brother, alright?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Brother? You really think he'll by that?"

Astoria patted his cheek distractedly. "Of course, you are good enough looking to be related to me."

Draco never had a chance to come up with a good comeback for Astoria was dragging him out of the room and down the marble staircase into the entrance. Draco had ordered the house elves to stay out of sight for the time being – Astoria had informed him that even though her lover was accepting of the fact that she was a witch, he was still leery about anything out of the "normal". Draco concluded that he would hate to be a muggle.

"Matthew!" Astoria hurried down the steps, still managing to look stunning as she did it, racing toward the handsome muggle man standing next to a sleek looking car. As Draco followed his ex-wife more slowly, he appraised the man. He found the man rather attractive, even in Draco's books, and had they met under different circumstances, say a club, then Draco may have approached him with a different plan in mind. Draco cleared his throat when he stood behind them, an action that any pureblood would have cringed at. Draco had recently taken pleasure in doing actions that set his fellow nobles' teeth on edge.

"Oh right!" Astoria turned, a blush coloring her cheeks. "Matthew, this is Drake, my brother." She shot a warning glance at Draco as he raised a single eyebrow in a high arch. Drake? Well that was new.

"Pleasure to meet you," Draco held out a hand, his voice smooth and with a darker undertone, one he thought would be respectable of a protective older brother.

"Like wise," the man took Draco's hand, gripping it with a strong grasp. So far, Draco approved. The three of them stood silently for a moment, Astoria looking between Draco and her muggle lover.

"Astoria never did tell me what you did for work," Draco said suddenly, with the air of someone talking about the weather.

Matthew smiled, glancing at Astoria. "I'm a lawyer." He frowned, suddenly, glancing back at Astoria and then Draco. "Uh… that's someone-"

"Oh I know what a lawyer does," Draco cut in, and from Astoria's quick glare he was again acting the part of a aristocrat. Truthfully Draco was glad that the muggle had a profession he understood; he shuddered to think at trying to understand what one of those plumble's did.

They fell into another brief silence. "And what do you do?" Matthew gave Draco a winning smile- he really could see why Astoria had fallen for him.

"Oh I'm a Po-" Astoria shot him a sharp look, "Professor." Draco ended rather lamely, giving Astoria a feint smile. He had almost forgotten about her asking him to act as "normal" as possible. Surely saying he was a Potions Master wasn't that out of the "normal".

"Really?" Matthew glanced up at the sprawling manor. Draco wanted to sneer at the man; what did he think Draco wouldn't be able to afford this place on a Professor's salary? He smiled and turned back to Astoria. "Well dear don't you think we should get going? The plane leaves in a few hours and you never know how the traffic is."

Astoria nodded, turning toward Draco. "I'll just get my things…" Draco nodded, finding it utterly ridiculous that they were to carry her multiple _suitcases_ (trunks were so much more fashionable) rather than use magic. But with some vigorous swearing on Draco and Matthew's part (Draco did cast one nonverbal lightening charm when they carried the last two bags – Astoria must have packed the whole house into her bags) and amused comments on Astoria's part they got the bags into the trunk of the car. Draco stood back, a sneer curling his lips as Matthew slammed the trunk shut. Astoria came over, hugging Draco and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Take care and remember to write," she whispered before pulling back. Tears where building up in the corners of her eyes and she brushed them away angrily. "You'll have to come visit too."

Matthew smiled and held out his hand again. Draco gripped it tightly, tugging the man closer in the pretense of giving him a light hug. "Take care of her," Draco hissed, calling up some of his magic. Though he was a muggle, he could still feel the raw power that rippled over Draco's skin, "or else you'll have to deal with me." He let Matthew go, giving him a pleasant smile and catching Astoria in one last, long hug.

"I'll miss you," he murmured into her hair. When he pulled back, she was openly crying.

"And I you."

Draco walked into the Manor House alone, feeling slightly empty but just as light as he had been four years previously when Astoria and he had stepped off the train. Astoria was right- it was time for a change. _A change,_ Draco thought_, that will start with a haircut_.

An hour later, Draco found himself seated in a muggle hair salon, a place he'd discovered some years previously when he'd suddenly gotten he idea to spend muggle money. Since then, he'd stopped using charmed hair products and used magic to trim his hair, instead choosing to come back each time he felt like he needed a haircut. The place was a charming, lively place, with a wonderful atmosphere and great workers. He'd become a regular, known simply as "Draco" the successful business man. Out of the millions of things muggles did, they go hair products correct.

Draco leaned back, letting Viv, his stylist, massage his head as she washed his hair. Around him the low chatter of employees with clients surrounded him, blending perfectly with the jazz coming from the speakers in the corners. He still remembered the first time he'd come here- totally baffled by everything. Viv had been there, and had laughed openly at him. For some reason his Malfoy glare did nothing, she simply led him to a chair and proceeded to give Draco a haircut. When she was finished, not only did Draco look _good_, but he felt good.

"Alright," Viv said, leaning Draco up and starting to towel off the excess hair. Draco sighed contently, feeling her short nailed fingers work into his scalp. "What have you been up to lately, Draco?"

"Mm…." Draco opened his eyes, staring at his and Viv's reflection opposite. "Other than finally getting a divorce from my wife, nothing much."

Viv stopped, staring down at Draco. "Well, that's something."

"And that means he's free!" Another employee, Elaine, grinned, pretending to mock swoon. Draco rolled his eyes- that would be the reaction from thousands of women (and some men) in the Wizarding World when the news came out that Draco and Astoria had broken their bond. Exactly why he planned on keeping the news under wraps as long as possible.

Viv and Draco settled into small talk, Draco feeling drowsy as she trimmed and styled away. He listened halfheartedly to her, and to the others sitting around him, so glad he'd found this little place. Muggles or not they were nice.

"Says here that the Minister has a new personnel!" Draco pulled himself out of his memories at the loud exclamation.

"Really now?" Viv's voice sounded amused as she questioned the customer sitting next to Draco. He slowly opened his eyes, realizing that Viv had turned him around so he was facing her, rather than the mirror. To his left he saw an middle aged man excitedly reading the paper.

"Yeah, a young bloke too. Let see…page 42. Ah!" the man flipped through the pages rapidly till he found the article.

"Lately, many have noticed a shadow dogging the Prime Minister. We are all used to the special services, but this was a change in face. On September 14th, the Prime Minister announced that new security measures were being taken due to the recent attacks on the government buildings. Though he could not tell all the details as to what those measures would be, he did say that guards were doubling. Which brought the attention to the young man standing behind the Prime Minister. The man was later to be confirmed to be Harry Potter- "

Draco began to violently cough, choking on nothing but his own saliva and air. Viv startled, frantically patting Draco on the back.

"Are you okay?" She asked, worry lines spreading in her forehead.

"Yes… just… Did you say _Harry Potter_?" Draco asked. Clearly he had misunderstood. It was probably Henry, or something, and Potter, well that was a common name wasn't it?

"Yes, Harry Potter." Draco stared at the man sitting next to him. Well Harry was also a common name. It could just be a coincidence. Besides the Chosen One had disappeared four years previously, there was no way it was the same Harry Potter. Could it? Had Potter disappeared from the Wizarding World only to make his way in the muggle world?

Draco barely registered that the man had finished reading the short article and was staring at Draco with a curious expression. "Could… could I see that?" he asked, weakly, gesturing toward the paper. The man handed it over the gap, the magazine folded so the article could be easily read.

Deep, emerald green eyes stared up at him from a slightly blurry picture. Draco would have known those eyes anywhere, he didn't need the glasses or the messy hair, or even the almost invisible scar on his forehead to prove who it was.

Harry Potter was back.

* * *

Just to clarify incase it was confusing: Draco's POV took place TWO months AFTER the "Prologue". So in reality this chapter should go between the "Prologue" and "One: A Court Full of Jesters" but I didn't feel like putting it there. So this flashes back, and the next chapter will be in present time (aka- "One: A Court Full of Jesters").

A/N: Thanks so much everyone for reading and reviewing! I'm surprised how easy this story is coming to me – usually I stumble forever over one chapter and get nowhere.

TO:

**SangLeGuira- **Thank you. Draco showed up, happy?

**TearfullPixie**_**- **_Thank you. (I have no other way to respond to "awesome" )

**AnimalLover247**- I just hope I don't make the characters to ooc (please warn me if I do!). I'm trying to write as quickly as possible, but it's going to be getting tough to do so. A warning (to everyone!) chapters may halt until around Christmas.

Thanks you guys for taking time to review, I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Now then, questions, comments, fears, anything, just review ;)

Happy (late) Turkey Day!

-Blue.


	4. 3: A Wayward King

Three:

A Wayward King

_10 Months Later- Present Time, Malfoy Manor_

Draco Malfoy was by no means having a good day. His potion had blown up an hour previously, ruining a suit he was rather fond of (Pansy said it brought out the flecks of blue in his eyes very nicely) and Scorpius had fallen off his toy broom and managed to break his arm (Draco was at a loss at how he'd done that at five feet in the air) and was still complaining that it _hurt_. Even after Draco had given him bone mending and numbing solutions immediately. And of course, there was the ever coming hate mail, coming from thousands of witches and wizards who found him a "cheeky git" and, his personal favorite, a "bloody manky minger, good-for-nothing wanker." This time however, the letter had been rather serious. It had contained a Ear Shriveling Curse, and upon opening attacked himself and the house elf present. While Draco had recognized it the moment it shot out of the envelope in a brilliant purple flash and had managed to shield himself, the house elf wasn't as lucky. Draco spent the next hour trying to calm an hysterical elf, and another good half an hour explaining to her that he was going to _fix_ her ears and was _not_ going to sack her.

Exhausted, Draco fell onto the couch in the library, letting his head fall back against the arm rest with a small thud. If he had one more interruption in the next ten minutes, he was going to take his wand and hex said interrupter into oblivion. Of course, said visitor would most likely be a house elf come to summon him due to Scorpius managing to break something else. Or set the curtains on fire (Narcissa had left her wand out once and the trouble maker had managed to set every curtain on fire in the house).

Needless to say, Draco only realized his exhausted mind had drifted off into sleep when the dreams started.

They always started the same; slow, sluggish, peaceful. He was always on his back, the carefully carved silver and dark wood cradle wrapped around him. Above him the model spiraled slowly, a sweet melody tinkling from the moon and stars. As his little fist raised toward it the dream blended with the next- he was older, only just, his feet skimming the dewy grass as the broom moved slowly across the emerald lawn. He could hear his mother's high tinkling laughter and his father's deep rumble answer back. The images came a little faster; he was each time a little older, still happy, his parents still smiling in the quiet Malfoy way.

The dream always stilled then. He was facing himself in a mirror, silken robes pinned uncomfortably around his raised arms. In the reflection he watched a messy haired boy step into the shop, absent mindedly picking at the hem of his frayed shirt, his eyes wide behind unflattering glasses. As he watched the boy straightened his back, his eyes glancing around in a very determined way- and Draco felt a rush of appreciation rush through his body. He didn't know why but he wanted to know what lie behind those brilliant green eyes- the eyes the same shade of as a potion his father had once showed him – and what made him lift his chin and smile just like that-

And the pace would pick up again- Draco would be hurtling through the images. Moods would overtake him, leaving him breathless and shaking as they departed, the brief burning desire of the need to be whole again consuming him and then-

He was shackled to the chair by his own fear and guilt. He didn't want to be here, but he did. He'd make his father proud, but he was scared. His throat felt raw and hot, choking him and if the man across from him wasn't there- he probably would have screamed.

Instead he watched as the Dark Lord stretched a hand out toward him, a sinister smile on his face as he stared right at Draco. The blood red eyes sung with laughter – he knew, he could taste Draco's thoughts. The smile twisted and his voice spoke, not from the slash that was his mouth, but in his mind, in the floor, vibrating through the air and coiling around Draco like the snake at the Lord's feet.

"_It is an honor Draco. . . you would make me so. . . _happy_. . . Come now Draco, isn't this what you want?"_

And Draco trembled, wanted to run, to yell it to the world that no no no this isn't what he wanted, he wants to be free from all of this, he wants to go to school like everyone else and be unaware of it all—

He could feel his father grip the chair tighter for his hair caught in the grasping claws and he knew- knew he had to – wanted not to-

He took the hand and felt his arm burn, felt it spread until he thought he'd die-

The dream changed again and he was again faced with the burning green eyes of Harry Potter. They were narrowed and the chin was raised again. Draco no longer knew if this was a dream or reality- the Dark Lord's voiced hissed through his mind and he was raising his wand screaming "_Cruccio" _just as the burning got stronger and he felt hands scrambling against him, screams, who's he didn't know, but he felt cold on top the hotness and he just wanted it all to end-

"_You will not fail me, Draco_."

He woke with a start, rocketing off the sofa with a choking gasp. His clothes clung to him, trapping the icy sweat underneath the soft silk, making Draco shudder as he tried to calm his breathing. His veins were humming with the burning energy, convulsing painfully on the mark. His fingers were on the hot skin, nails biting in before he realized what he was doing. With a violent jester, Draco sprang up, pacing the room rapidly. In the years after being Marked, Draco had tried desperately to remove the Mark. Now, the black lines had faded but where still ever present, a angry crisscrossing pattern of raised silvery and red lines marring its surface but by no means hiding it. Draco had once- in a bout of stupidity, desperateness, fear and hatred- tried to _cut_ the mark from his skin. He couldn't remember who had found him bleeding out – his mother, Pansy, Astoria?

Draco let out an angry snarl and behind him he heard several things shatter. His body felt like it was going to break, the humming feeling intensifying. His mouth had dried out, feeling as if he was biting into a cotton rag, and his eyes burned and itched, something hot and sharp pressing on their backs.

How long had he been like this? He'd thought that after Potter's triumph his nightmares would disappear, that the Dark Lord would no longer haunt him. Of course, that had been a ridiculous thought - the Dark Lord had promised that if he failed he'd never go a moment without being haunted by his presence. His heartbeat raced, and his pacing became erratic. By his appearance he greatly resembled a caged tiger he had once seen at a party. The majestic creature had such a mournful look in its deep amber eyes, that Draco had wanted to weep at the sight of its angry pacing.

Like the proud tiger, the king of the jungle, he'd fallen from his throne. He was trapped in the Manor, his kingdom, caged by his nightmares. Outside was a world full of brambles, people who stared at him behind the bars, poking at him with their sharp fingers, their cruel laughter hurting their ears-

"Draco!" He spun, his heartbeat erupting into frantic beating against his chest. Cool hands pressed against his face, hands that felt so gentle, that he sagged, his eyes sightless. "Draco. . . shh, calm down. . ."

Slowly, his body stopped burning and he could breath normally. Tearing himself from the comforting embrace he found Pansy's blank face watching him. She asked him nothing, having found him like this so many times, instead lead him slowly back to the couch were she forced him to seat, before summoning a pitcher and glass of water. When his body stopped shaking, the final aftermaths of his fit subsiding, she handed him the glass and sat next to him, smoothing her black skirt around her legs. She didn't watch him directly, instead surveying the damage he'd done to the library. Books lay in heaps, papers fluttering down to lay still against the tattered remains of the curtains that had once hung alongside the tall windows. She swept her wand around; books beginning to repair themselves and leap back onto their appropriate shelves. The curtains she flicked her wand at, banishing them.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I never liked those curtains. I have a nice set I think will go magnificently instead." Her mouth twitched, the only sign that she in a good mood. Where Astoria was a beauty, Pansy had never been anything exceedingly exceptional. However, time had been kind to her, and she'd grown to be a rather beautiful woman. She certainly had a fetching amount of young men trying to be here suitors; they never stayed long though, Pansy was a intense person to be around.

"The same dream?" she asked quietly, taking the glass from his hand and refilling it.

"The same." Draco set his jaw, staring across the library to wear a book was wriggling back into place.

"Why haven't you tried any of your own sleeping potions?"

"I have, Pansy. They can only be taken so long." He knew he looked pitiful, dragging his legs up on the couch.

They fell into silence, Pansy trying to understand him from what little he'd let her know of his haunting. Draco felt far more exhausted then he had when he'd first laid down - the dreams had not come for quite some time. He wondered what had triggered them - the letter with its claims that he was a filthy Death Eater and nothing more, that he deserved to die.

"That's it." He jerked, watching Pansy wearily as she stood. "You need out of this house. You've been cooped in your lab for months - don't you dare protest, your mother confided in me. If you stay another minute in here you are going to start growing a long white beard and have a hunched back." Draco glared at her, rubbing his chin where light blond sparse stumble grew. It seemed to be the curse of the Malfoy family to be unable to grow facial hair - or for that matter any body hair.

"Pansy, I have a potion brewing right now and if I leave-"

"Draco, you haven't been in your lab since your potion had a slight miscalculation this morning, and again, don't even think of protesting." She fixed him with a glare, one that was on par with the Malfoy one, and raised an eyebrow. "We are going out."

Somehow Draco found himself on his bed, sulking - but not _sulking,_ for a Malfoy never sulked - as Pansy paraded in and out of sizable walk in closet. "Draco," she said, coming out with an armful of clothes and dumping them on the bed next to him, "do you own _anything_ fashionable? This went out years ago!" She showed him an emerald green shirt he'd forgotten he even owned. "This won't do at all."

"How unfortunate," he drawled, inspecting the nails on one of his hands. Next time he went to get his hair cut, he'd have his nails tended to. "Looks like I won't be going anywhere tonight."

Pansy smiled, her painted red lips parting on pearly white teeth. "Not so quickly, dearest Draco, I'm _sure_ I can find you something to wear."

* * *

A/N: Vau. Sorry it has been some 7 months since I last updated this. I've been focusing on my actual life, not on extra things like writing. Hmm, that sounds a little bit snippy "actual life". Anyways, I haven't forgotten about this story, nor any of my other stories. I merely lost focus for a while. As you may notice, the tone slightly changes halfway through this chapter - that's because I had half written 7 months ago, and wrote the rest today. I'll try to update a few more times in the remaining time I have left (don't worry I'm not sick! I'm back to the dreaded education system that drains my soul). However, I must say that I was satisfied with part 2 of Deathly Hallows. Not so much the final fight between Harry and Voldemort - hallo, jumping off the cliff? WTF. On that, I also recently saw X-men: First Class. I forgot completely about the "bromance" (more like not-very-subtle-gay-scenes between Charles and Eric) and have been drawing a lot of them. As soon as I get a scanner, check my dA. I've also been inspired to write about them, but that will probably be put on hold until I get this further finished. I know a lot of you are cheering that I'm finally sticking to a single project.

To say a few more things; Draco is a bit sick. I decided that after his failure to succeed in killing Dumbledore, he faced the wrath of Voldemort. The family faced a lot of hate from the Death Eaters when they fell from grace, so I figured that Draco, being the youngest, and the weak link, would have received the most. This chapter he may have seemed to be a bit OOC, and I apologize greatly for that. He'll be back to Draco Malfoy soon.

And about Pansy. I hated her immensely in the books, mainly because she hung on Draco like the love sick cow she was. However, after she stayed out of the War, I kind of appreciated her a bit more. I still dislike her just because she's Pansy, but she'll serve a good purpose in the Greater Good (see what I did there?).

And Harry. What the hell is up with him, hmm...? Not telling.

So "see" you all soon! And again, I apologize for the long, long delay.

TO everyone who messaged me to update:

I'm very sorry it took so long. But guess what? The next two chapters have been written - I'm just going to torture you all a bit more while I tweak some things. ;)

-Blue.

_Sneak peak at the next chapter:_

Harry swept his hair back from his forehead, enjoying the cool night breeze that played against his unmarred skin. He calmly walked up the dirt path toward a massive glittering house that sat sprawling on perfect plush grass that rippled dark black-green with a silver sheen under the fey lights and the full moon. He chuckled softly as he heard the cry of a peacock; no matter how many lessons he had in the customs of purebloods, he would never understand their obsession with the jeweled birds. They seemed such a mundane, _muggle_, thing, below the tastes of the ancient families.

As he neared the front of the manor, he paused to admire his reflection in a white marble fountain positioned directly in front of the wide steps. The man that stared back at him was a new favorite's of Harry's. He was taller than Harry, with broader shoulders fitting a beater rather than a seeker. He had a fetching smile that lit up his rather boyish face and gave a sense of likeability to those he spoke with. The man's hair was much lighter than Harry's, with strawberry red tint to the brown waves. And the eyes, that sparkled with amusement and a quick mind, could certainly never hold a candle to Harry's deep emerald ones.

Overall, he looked nothing like Harry Potter.


End file.
